I sit down for coffee and a chat on a sunny terrace with a friend who's a senior youth worker, and she says. "We have a big problem with our 11-13 year old girls". She works on the edge of a big city, in charge of a large youth centre. Her young clients are often affiliated to gangs. She bans all gang talk, throwing of signs and bandanas that identify which gang they belong to. No weapons either. It's to create a safe oasis in their chaotic world. But she's worried it's girls that are suffering most.

We talk more than ever, but rarely to the person we are with. Surely this must eventually affect our ability to connect in real time? Our brains were never designed to flit from one image to another. We are unable to be bored, constantly seeking entertainment, every free nano second filled with social media.

These are the realities that the young ones face day after day. But parents also encounter a new set of challenges brought about by the age of connectivity. The latter grew up when uninvolved parenting was the norm. This experience had led to the rise of helicopter mums and dads, a parenting style that has gained a lot of flak off- and online.

In one holiday, I became responsible beyond home, trustworthy, and gained a lot of credibility with Mama and ultimately my parents, too. This new status would serve me well later when I wanted to go out on dates, away for college, even move to New York.

As I sit on the edge of your bed, my hand gently smoothing away the hair on your forehead, I feel the heavy pressure and angst of being a teenager ebbing away. You're sleeping now, the fever having finally settled. And, there, just as when you were smaller, I sit, watching you. To me, you are still my little girl. Especially as you sleep.

I had previously decided to wait until I had finished my degree (three more glorious days) and submitted my final assignment before throwing myself back into blogging. However, my Twitter timeline notified me on Monday that it was Mental Health Awareness Week, triggering an internal battle within my DBD (death by dissertation) brain.